


a girl so in love with the wrong world

by usoverlooked



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usoverlooked/pseuds/usoverlooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deaton had warned them there’d be darkness around them – the very core of their being, Stiles thinks sometimes. It manifests strangely, in that for a while he does not notice it at all. Until one particularly crisp fall night, when Stiles falls asleep and dreams.</p><p>He dreams of Erica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a girl so in love with the wrong world

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before I knew much about 3B so there are elements of it but unfortunately other things aren't included. Other than that, this is for my darling Mori, who turned 19 and is amazing.

Deaton had warned them there’d be darkness around them – the very core of their being, Stiles thinks sometimes. It manifests strangely, in that for a while he does not notice it at all. Scott feels it – Stiles sees it some days, how his best friend shrinks in. Allison feels it – Stiles witnesses it first hand when he ends up pinned against a locker after startling the girl accidentally. Stiles does not feel it. Until one particularly crisp fall night, when Stiles falls asleep and dreams.

The room is his own. The blankets feel the same, everything feels the same. There’s one glaring difference and she’s sitting on his desk, scarcely visible in the familiar darkness of the room.

“Miss me?” Erica grins at him, lips cherry red and appropriately wolfish. Her mouth bleeds as she talks and a cut on her forehead is dripping. He doesn’t see her body until she leans back on one hand, languid and comfortable. The slash gores through her – Stiles catches sight of the bones of her rib cage.

Stiles jerks awake. He flails his hand in the direction of his bedside table, managing to flick the light on after a few attempts at it. His desk is empty of the blonde and Stiles lets out a breath at the sight. Stiles blinks again, notices something new. He climbs out of bed – slow and cautious with something between fear and hope – and stares at the discovery for a long time. There is a streak of blood just about where Erica’s hand would have landed.

 

“Something’s up with you today,” Scott comments the next morning. Stiles shrugs jerkily, moving to lean against the locker next to Scott’s. Pausing in his rummaging through the locker, Scott fixes his friend with a look.

“What did Derek do with Boyd and Erica’s bodies?” Stiles asks, a fitting sort of answer to Scott’s  non-question. Scott’s brow furrows and his jaw clenches as he turns back to his locker.

“Don’t know. You could call Cora or Derek, they didn’t…” Scott pauses for a moment, shuts his locker and leans on it. He looks completely worn out in that moment and Stiles’s throat tightens at the sight.

“Hey, no big deal, man, don’t sweat it,” Stiles says. He steps away from the locker, clamps a hand on Scott’s shoulder and pulls him along with him. “I’ve been meaning to drop Cora a line anyways. I really think she liked me, though all for shallow reasons. Y’know, for my tough, macho looks.”

Scott laughs and it almost sounds as though he means it. Stiles squeezes his shoulder at the sound, pleased by it.

 

Three weeks later, Stiles dreams again. This time, Erica is standing in his window frame. Stiles swallows and stares at his desk instead of at the girl. He can hear the rustle of movement, can make out the sight of it in his peripheral vision.

“So are you a ghost? Is that what this is?” Stiles asks. He folds his hands behind his head, some attempt at feeling comfortable. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, I think I’m just…” Erica stops and the room falls completely silent. Stiles’s head jerks to where he figured her to be standing. She’s there, but much closer than he realized. He manages to not startle at her appearance this time, helped by her middle being shielded by the pillow aside him.

Erica smiles, lopsided and true, a trickle of blood falling from it. Stiles tries not to watch it, but he must because she wipes at it quickly.

“I think I’m just waiting,” Erica says, so quiet even in the still room. The answer makes the back of Stiles’s neck prickle.

“For what?” He asks. Erica shrugs, her face pinching with concentration. Finally, she gives up and sighs.

“It’s just a feeling,” she concludes, the best explanation she can give. Stiles stares, blank and afraid. When she looks up, gone is the scared girl and back is the girl who hit him with part of his own car.

“Do you think you can touch me?” she asks, all bluster and flirt. Leaning in, Erica grins and Stiles freezes, thrown off-kilter by it all. “Don’t you want to?”

She leans closer still and Stiles can smell her. She smells rotten, like meat left in the sun. It hurtles Stiles away and awake.

He lights three candles to rid his room of the smell, yet it still lingers.

 

It takes two weeks and a day before Stiles dreams again. The candles he lit the morning after the last dream still burn when he looks around his room. It’s the first time there has been a difference – at least one that he has noticed, Stiles considers. He looks up to find Erica at the foot of his bed, near to the desk again, with an expression that can only be described as pouting.

“I didn’t know,” Erica says. She sounds truly hurt and she must realize it because she quickly crosses her arms. Her expression turns hardened, everything real held behind it. “But, I mean, I have been dead for like four months, what did you expect?”

“For now, let’s just keep arm’s distance apart,” Stiles says. He can’t find it in himself to apologize and the answering eye roll reminds him why. A silence falls, oddly comfortable. Stiles watches a trail of blood as it meanders down her cheek to her neck, then blushingly stops. All of this should be weird – or at least, weirder.

“So why do you think that I’m your-“ Stiles pauses to motion as he searches for a word “-your contact or tether or whatever.”

“Boyd’s dead too and it’s not like…” Erica trails off at Stiles’s expression. She smiles at his shock, the saddest sort of smile. Her teeth are tinted red with blood at the gums. “I saw him here – wherever here is. He didn’t stay long, Boyd always was a busy one.”

“You can get in contact with other dead people? That’s great, Erica, you should try to find someone who might know what’s going on here,” Stiles says this all quickly, excited and hopeful. Erica exhales harshly in response. She scrubs a hand through her hair, pulling it over one shoulder. A bruise on her neck is yellow, and Stiles is distracted for a moment because he remembers it as purple.

“I’ve only seen him and that was like… it wasn’t like this. It was just like, I watched him. He looked around, sighed and kept going,” Erica looks down. Stiles sits up on his knees, nearer to her. In fact, he’s near enough to hear her swallow shakily.

“Erica,” he says, soft like she might spook. She looks up, eyes wet and Stiles wonders if he should add something and then she blinks and they’re gone.

“We weren’t in love or anything, but he was still, I mean, he just walked past me. Like I was-“ Erica stops then because whatever word to finish is too close to the truth to speak. She shuts her eyes and Stiles stands, hovers near her.

“Well, I can see you,” Stiles offers. Erica smirks and it’s familiar enough that Stiles steps back two steps.

“I noticed,” she says. She turns to him and grins, all out this time. Her teeth are only red at the gums, which Stiles registers this time as different. “I think you’re my contact because somehow you’re open to it and we’re, I don’t know, friends or whatever.”

Erica cocks her head, freezes and stares at Stiles. He swallows as she steps towards him, intent in her eyes.

“Erica, what are you-“

“Shut up and tell me next time if this worked,” Erica cuts him off. Then, her hand shoots out and slams into the closet door paneling.

Stiles sits up in bed. The closet door – which he always rather liked – has one of the panels pushed in. Stiles stares at it for a long time, not sure if he’s afraid or happy.

 

Pack meetings can, technically, be called by anyone. Scott is all for equal opportunity within the pack, which is great because it means that everyone actually shows up in the Stilinski’s garage when Stiles sends out the group text. Lydia shows up with both of the twins and mentions, almost offhand, that they really ought to tell Danny.

“We can work on it,” Scott says, diplomatically. Lydia exchanges a look with Ethan and Stiles claps his hands, already foreseeing the derailment of the meeting.

“Are ghosts possible?” Stiles asks, upfront. The room seems to change at the question. Isaac laughs, a few chuckles escaping before he reads the faces of the rest of the pack. Next to him, seated on the oversized trunk that houses blankets, Allison is practically alabaster. Stiles stares her down. “Allison?”

“I can check the beastiary,” she says, but shakiness in her voice gives her away. She sucks in a breath. “Plus, I’ve been kind of, having these dreams-“

“Yes,” Stiles yelps, throwing one arm at her. Allison blinks.

“Right, and I mean, that’s not really a ghost but just weird dreams, I mean-“

“Can they move stuff? Like what do they say?” Stiles asks, crossing the room towards Allison with each word. Allison straightens and both Scott and Isaac step in front of her, then move away when Allison huffs at the protection.

“It’s not like that. It’s like a dream, but my,” Allison pauses, bites her lip for a moment, deciding. “My aunt’s there. She tells me to do things, but they don’t always make sense or they’re just awful things, so I don’t do them.”

“Oh,” Stiles deflates instantly and Allison looks sympathetic. He sighs. “Never mind then.”

“Does it feel real?” Lydia asks, voice soft. Stiles spins on his heel to find his friend staring steadfastly at the floor. He watches her thumb rub a pattern on her jeans, the movement memorizing as he waits for her to say more. “It could be bad if it does.”

“Why?” Scott asks, sharply. Lydia’s head jerks up and beside her Aiden straightens. Stiles hears a rumble of a growl – Isaac or maybe even Allison in all honesty. Scott sighs. “Sorry Lydia, the alpha stuff makes some stuff sound wrong, like not how I wanted it.”

“The alpha stuff?” Ethan comments, earning a sheepish smile in reply from Scott. Ethan and Aiden chuckle identical laughs and Lydia relaxes between them.

“That’s how Peter came back,” Lydia says. At this, the tension in the room returns and becomes something else. Stiles is reminded once again that they truly are a pack. Isaac’s claws scrape on wood, Allison hisses, the twins growl – teeth and all – and Scott’s posture becomes tense, shoulders drawn together. Lydia swallows, the sound vocal even to Stiles’s human ears. “I still don’t know if it was real or if it wasn’t. But what matters is at the time, I knew it was real and I did whatever it to make it stop. Hence, Peter.”

“It’s not like that,” Stiles interjects. The room seems to shift to him and Lydia quirks an eyebrow, making a face that’s an odd combination of amusement and exasperation. Sadly, Stiles recognizes the look from her. Usually, though it pains Stiles to admit it even to himself, it’s warranted.

“Not at the first, no,” Lydia says. It’s ominous enough to keep Stiles from protesting. A long pause follows before Lydia finally sighs. “On that note, are we ever going to deal with the Peter Hale problem?”

“If the pack won’t, I will on my own,” Allison says, voice dangerously low. Next to her, Isaac nods his assent and Stiles is certain if he looked to the twins their expressions would be similar.

“It’s not that easy, there’s politics involved, we don’t want Cora and Derek to think that we’re making a move against them,” Stiles says. He rubs a hand through his hair. “I need to call Cora about some stuff anyways, I’ll see what they think of it.”

“Derek won’t like it,” Isaac says. He smirks, as if the idea pleases him and Stiles wonders again what drove the boy from Derek’s pack. Scott knows but the times Stiles asked, Scott shook his head, looking sad enough that Stiles had stopped asking.

“Cora will. In fact, I’m surprised she didn’t do it herself after finding out he killed Laura,” Stiles admits and Scott nods next to him.

“Peter killed his, what was she, his daughter?” Ethan asks, rather incredulous.

“Niece,” Scott comments, voice soft. Ethan whistles low under his breath and Stiles wonders how terrible the offense of killing a family member must be if it offends another bloodthirsty alpha – or at least formerly bloodthirsty. Scott nods in agreement at Ethan and Aiden’s expressions – some cross of offended and saddened – before clapping a hand down on Stiles’s shoulder. “If you and Cora have been in contact, it’d be great if you could talk to her about Peter. Thanks man.”

“Are we done for today? Danny was going to help me with some computer programming tonight,” Lydia puts in. Scott quirks an eyebrow and the girl smirks. “Shocked I need help with anything?”

“Personally, I’m shocked you know what the word means,” Stiles comments, earning a chuckle. Lydia shrugs and takes the comment as the okay to leave. The twins trail after her as she exits. There’s an awkward moment when Isaac and Allison stand at the same time – obviously to leave together – and Isaac blushes at Scott.

“I’ll see you back at the house later, man,” Scott says simply, smiling. Isaac ducks his head and falls into step with Allison as the walk out of the Stilinski garage. Stiles hears Allison say something and Isaac laugh in return. Scott’s grin fades at it, then he shrugs. “I’m glad they’re both happy.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Stiles replies. “If you change your tune, you know where to find me.”

“Stiles,” Scott says, catching Stiles with his hand on the door to his house. Stiles turns and Scott’s expression is too serious. Stiles is never sure what to think when Scott looks like this – so clearly the leader, the alpha – but somehow his emotions on it always fall somewhere between proud and scared. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me, you know that.”

“If it gets to be anything serious, I will,” Stiles assents. Scott smiles, folds his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and leaves. Stiles raps his hand on the door once before heading up to his room.

 

Erica does not come to him that night, or the next. When she finally does, Stiles rolls over to find her sprawled on the floor beside his bed. He swallows at the sight and she looks to him, grins.

“I’ve been trying to figure stuff out. At first I thought I could visit other people, if I knew where to find them. But I tried to visit Scott and couldn’t. I also tried to see Derek but he’s not,” Erica pauses, her face pinching in concentration. Stiles watches, looks down her body and finds her jacket is still bloodstained, but no longer bleeding there. The cut on her forehead is only a scab. “Did Derek leave Beacon Hills?”

“Yeah, with Cora. You knew her, didn’t you?” Stiles asks. Erica nods and Stiles watches the bruises on her neck – yellow and paler than before – as she does.

“I’m glad she made it out, she seemed like she’d be good for Derek to have around. Did Derek leave because – was it, I mean, he doesn’t really have a pack anymore, I guess,” she finishes with a head shake, more annoyed than anything. It takes Stiles a moment to catch what she can’t articulate.

“It wasn’t all because of you and Boyd, you didn’t like fail him or anything,” Stiles says. Erica does not react for a second and he wonders if he misjudged, but then she bites her lip. “Erica, seriously, the guy got you both killed, you can’t-“

“He was my alpha,” Erica jerks up to sit upright. Stiles blinks, unsettled by her sudden closeness and her expression. She looks sad, more so than he has seen her. “Boyd and I abandoned him when things got bad. It wasn’t his fault. You wouldn’t understand, you aren’t a wolf.”

“Erica,” Stiles starts, but she shakes her head. Her hands come up to grab his comforter.

“Look, think whatever wrong thing you want, but we abandoned him just as much as he abandoned us. Pack goes both ways,” Erica says, fierce. Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair and drops the other onto one of her hands, still fisted in his comforter.

“Fine,” he says, then glances down. “Oh, hey, I guess you are corporeal.”

Erica stares down, gasps around a laugh at the sight. Stiles smiles at that, the unabashed joy on her face. She jumps up onto the bed, tackling him. Her hair spills over her shoulder and she laughs – probably at his shocked expression.

“I’m real,” she says, voice quiet with awe. Stiles nods and she rolls off of him, flopping onto the bed next to him without any elegance. Stiles turns on his side and tries to puzzle out what to say to her.

His alarm buzzes and he misses the chance.

 

“This had better be important,” Cora greets him. Stiles smiles in spite – or perhaps, admittedly, because – of the opening remark.

“Glad to see New York hasn’t dampened that sunny disposition,” Stiles comments, almost reflexively. There’s no reply, so Stiles simply imagines the assumed eye-roll and continues. “So, your uncle, how attached to him are you?”

“Personally? Peter killed my sister. Besides that, it’s always been Hale family belief that what’s dead should stay dead, so he’s betrayed us in more ways than one. Derek’s sentimental though, so whatever you’re planning, he’s the one who you’d be up against,” Cora says quickly.

Stiles pumps a fist in the air at the approval – he figures they’re halfway there, if nothing else. There’s clatter in the background, plates perhaps, and a beeping that ends quickly. Cora sighs on the other end. “But Stiles, be careful. There’s a reason Peter survived the fire and everything else – he knows what he’s doing.”

“Cora, be careful, it almost sounds like you’re worried about my well-being,” Stiles says, earning a solitary huff of a laugh. There’s a sound that Stiles is fairly certain is a knife chopping something and he finds himself really hoping Cora is cooking.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she answers easily. “Is that all? I have work in twenty minutes and I have to eat.”

“That’s basically it,” Stiles says. He cringes, hearing the admission in his voice, certain the werewolf on the other end will also hear it. Cora breathes a hum of disapproval at his comment and he sighs. “Fine, there is this thing where – okay, don’t tell Derek but – I’ve sort of been seeing Erica in my sleep – and before you make whatever joke you’re going to, not like that, it’s like she’s there and just sort of hanging out.”

There’s a pause, followed by some shuffling and Stiles shifts his weight. Then, he begins to pace, the well-worn path in his room. The floor there is actually faded a bit, from years of studying, worrying about some comment Lydia made and –most recently – werewolf issues.

“You need to talk to Deaton about this,” a voice that is most definitely not Cora’s says and Stiles groans. He leans against his wall and actually lets his head drop onto it.

“Derek, seriously, the part where I said specifically not to tell you this, I meant that,” he says. Across the line, Derek growls and Stiles thinks he can faintly hear a giggle from Cora. He absently labels the girl a traitor before peeling himself off the wall. “Look man-“

“Why would Cora know anything about that? Go talk to Deaton or, hell, talk to Peter, he knows all about coming back from the dead,” Derek barks. Stiles overhears Cora protest in the background – most likely upset about the first comment – and grins despite himself.

“Fine, I’ll talk to Deaton,” Stiles says. “Oh, and we’re going to kill Peter.”

Stiles ends the call and tosses the phone onto the bed. He knows the last comment will mean some mending bridges for Scott later – and he’ll apologize to Scott for that – but he couldn’t resist it. Stiles marches out to his garage, hops in his Jeep and heads to the vet’s.

 

“Did you bring me lunch?” Scott greets him with a smile. Stiles laughs, as if the very idea is so ridiculous, and Scott frowns exaggeratedly before returning to the poodle on the table, carefully clipping at the dog’s ankle hairs. He glances up. “Deaton’s in his office, eating lunch, which his sister kindly brought for him, like siblings are supposed to do.”

“Scott, man, until your mom finally lays one on my dad, we aren’t technically siblings and I’m totally in the clear,” Stiles says, enjoying Scott’s disgusted expression that forms at his phrasing. He squeezes Scott’s shoulder as he passes him, barging into Deaton’s office without knocking.

“I believe knocking is the proper protocol in polite societies,” Deaton comments, not looking up from a plate of sushi and some sort of document.

“I have a dead girl talking to me in my dreams and I was really going for flair, sorry about that,” Stiles says, stuffing his hands in his pants and leaning against the wall by the door. Deaton looks up, chopsticks clamping around a piece of sushi. Stiles raises one side of his mouth in a smile. “So, what is that, like a demonography?”

“It’s a report on a Persian that’s going to be staying here over the weekend,” Deaton answers and Stiles nods. Deaton leans over, pulling open a drawer. “Now, this dead girl, is it that friend of yours that the Darach killed?”

“No, it’s, um,” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes. “Might as well come in Scott, don’t want you feeling left out.”

Scott slips in, the poodle in his arms, without even bothering to look sheepish about listening in. Stiles squints at him, annoyed and Scott smiles back, too used to the look from Stiles for it to have any effect.

“It’s Erica,” he admits. Scott blinks at him, head swiveling to Deaton. Stiles belatedly realizes that Deaton may not know who Erica is. “She was one of Derek’s betas and she-“

“I know who Erica Reyes is. I helped him dispose of the remains,” Deaton says. Stiles shut his mouth hard and Deaton’s word - remains - reverberate inside him, expanding in his chest along with a bubble of despair. He feels it building and swallows. He can hear Deaton continuing, but it sounds distant and Stiles holds out a hand to try to pause whatever explanation. There’s a distant bark and suddenly Scott’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him to sit.

“Let’s count, okay, Stiles?” Scott says. Stiles is fairly certain he nods, mostly because Scott begins to count slowly. “C’mon, Stiles, count with me.”

It takes a few minutes longer before Stiles feels back in control – and another thirty seconds before Scott believes him enough to let Deaton continue. It seems silly – Stiles knew that Erica was dead, knew that something had been done with her body – her remains. It was just the actuality of it, the dealing with, as if she were a problem rather than a causality. Stiles knows that Deaton meant no harm, knows that Derek never thought of it that way, but it frightens him regardless.

“I apologize for my phrasing,” Deaton says, calmly. Stiles nods up at him, still seated on the floor. He can feel Scott’s eyes on him from the spot next to him.

“So, what happened to Erica? Is she in any sort of condition that she could, like, return to her body?” Stiles asks, stumbling around the words.

Deaton seems to consider this and Stiles looks over to Scott. He is looking up at his mentor, the poodle sprawled asleep across his crossed legs, and Stiles feels oddly proud of his friend. He knows the darkness has been effecting Scott as well, yet his complaints are far and between. In fact, Scott looks more concerned now – perhaps for Stiles, perhaps even for Erica – than he did when he mentioned to Stiles last week that he couldn’t transform one evening.

“I’m afraid werewolf regeneration is not exactly my forte. The Hales had many moral stances, and one of them was being very much opposed to such a thing. I can, however, look into the matter further and get back to you,” Deaton says, jotting down a note as he speaks. He looks up when he finishes, looking sympathetic. “I am loathe to suggest this, but we do know one werewolf who did such a thing – and in a similar manner – and perhaps his take on this would be enriching.”

“No,” Stiles says and is rather surprised to find Scott voicing the same statement, just as firmly.

“I’m sorry, Deaton, it’s good advice but we can’t owe Peter any favors,” Scott says. Stiles makes a note to ask if Scott actually read the book on diplomacy he got him for Halloween. He turns to see Deaton raise his eyebrows before nodding.

“It was merely an idea. I’ll reach out to some contacts I have, until then, let me know if anything changes in the situation,” Deaton says, then claps his hands together. “Now, Scott, I believe there was also a Pekingese needing a wash today.”

Scott plucks the poodle off his lap and hops up, offering his hand to Stiles once he’s up.

“You go on, Clark Kent, I can see myself out,” Stiles says. Scott hustles out and Stiles pulls himself up. It’s not until he’s back in his Jeep until he realizes he forgot to mention his phone call to the Hales. Shrugging to himself, he decides it can wait.

 

Stiles falls asleep early that night. He isn’t expecting her and yet he isn’t entirely surprised when he rolls over in his sleep to find Erica rifling through his bookcase. She pauses to look over her shoulder at him momentarily then turns back to run fingers over the snow globe from San Diego.

“I could hear you,” Erica says quietly. She picks up the snow globe, turning it over in her hand, as she turns. Stiles knows he must look confused because her mouth tips in a slight smile – the pitying sort. “You were on the phone and you mentioned me and it was like – for a second then, it was like I was there.”

“What?” Stiles jerks up to stand, slamming into her. The snow globe slips from her hands and cracks against the ground. The liquid from it spills onto Stiles’s feet but it escapes his notice. He grasps Erica’s arms. “Erica, you were there?”

“It was like I was, I don’t know, it was like there was a curtain between us, but I could see you, you kept motioning with your hands and you paced and then, I don’t know, it all faded back out,” Erica says. Stiles stares at her, a smile growing. Sighing, Erica pulls away from him, stepping back.

“You don’t understand Stiles,” Erica says. “I heard you the other time too. With Deaton. Stiles, my body is-“

“Peter’s throat was slashed and he came back,” Stiles interrupts. Erica’s eyes flash wild at the comparison and Stiles steps toward her, glass biting into his foot. He jumps up at the pain, balancing on the other foot and nearly toppling over. Stiles is certain he’s going to fall over when instead he finds himself falling against Erica. She helps him flop back to sit on his bed, sitting beside him as he pulls the glass from his heel. He nicks his finger in doing so, hissing at the pain.

“It’s different than that,” Stiles says softly. He turns to face her and finds her staring at the injured finger. “Erica?”

“I’m not bleeding anymore,” she says. Her eyes stay fixed on his finger, shell-shocked. “Stiles, if I’m healing, but my body’s gone, where do I go once I’m better?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits, reaching over and brushing her hair back from her face. Even the scab on her forehead is gone now. “Where do you want to go?”

Erica’s eyes search his face, coming to rest on his mouth. “Wherever I belong.”

“You belong with m-“ Stiles jerks into consciousness as someone fists a hand in his shirt. He gasps at the change, blushing when his eyes adjust to the light and he stares up at his intruder. “Lydia?”

“You’re hurt,” she says, throwing back her covers. Stiles looks down to find his foot bloodied, along with the sheet around it. “Stiles, whoever your ghost is-“

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles flails out of bed, nearly colliding with Lydia, who steps back gracefully. Stiles winces as he stands on the injured foot, turning to his bookshelf. Lydia follows his gaze, going so far as to walk around his bed. She stares at the floor – the broken snow globe and its contents, Stiles assumes – for a long moment before looking back at Stiles.

“Stiles, I don’t know how I got here,” Lydia says, in a hushed voice. It takes Stiles a beat to catch her meaning but when he does he shakes his head. The banshee, the part of Lydia that is not entirely her, may be drawn to places where someone is nearly to die, he feels the fear of that thought in his bones. Yet he also feels oddly certain that whatever she was drawn by, it wasn’t his imminent death. Lydia crosses her arms as he tries to stammer this all out. “Look, whoever this is, they’re not-“

“It’s Erica, okay? She wouldn’t hurt me, much less kill me, if that’s what you think got you here,” Stiles says. He must yell because Lydia points animatedly at his door, then the clock. Stiles sighs, drops his voice because while his father is a kind man, surely he has limits. “Look, she doesn’t ever ask me to do things for her and honestly, Lydia, she seems scared more than anything.”

Lydia licks her lips and Stiles is startled to find that he has no reaction to it. His mind is still on the Erica’s expression seconds ago, though it seems longer. Thinking of it, he turns in the abysmal hope that the blonde girl is still standing there. She isn’t. Lydia crosses the room back to him, forces him to sit on the bed before marching to his bathroom – she calls over her shoulder that she’s getting him a bandage.

“Erica, we need to figure out why you’re here,” Stiles whispers, dropping his head into his hands.

“You’re telling me,” Erica sings back. Stiles freezes and there’s a crash as his bathroom door flings open, hitting the wall. Lydia flies out, hair streaming behind her. Stiles stands, grinning.

“You can hear-“ Stiles stops when he sees Lydia. Her eyes look practically glazed over and she jerks to a stop, entirely gawky in the motion. His smile falters at the motion. It’s entirely unlike Lydia, Stiles swallows at the thought. She cocks her head with an inelegant jerk and Stiles steps towards her. “Lydia?”

Lydia blinks a few times, then reaches a hand out. There’s a moment of pause where nothing happens. Then, there’s a burst of light, a sharp noise – Lydia, Stiles dazedly, thinks or, more accurately, the banshee – and Stiles is thrown against the closet door. When he rights himself, blinking against the light, his mouth goes dry at the sight ahead of him. Lydia is breathing unsteadily, leaning onto his bed, looking at Stiles fearfully. That’s not the frightening part – though it should be, because a scared Lydia is frightening in its own right. The scariest sight is Erica, who is standing next to Lydia, her nose bleeding and her eyes bright with tears. She looks at Stiles and her face splits into a grin.

 

 

It takes about three seconds before Lydia rights herself, whips out her phone and instructs Stiles to sit down and not touch anything – when he points out that it’s his room, she silences him with a look and behind her Erica snorts. She leans against Stiles’s desk, her breath still rather uneven. Lydia calls Scott and Stiles sits on his bed, staring dumbfounded at Erica. She paces in front of him, her eyes locked on Lydia. When Lydia hangs up, she hops up to sit on the desk, crossing her legs at her ankles. She must text someone else because she fiddles with her phone for a minute or so before setting it down and giving Stiles her attention.

“So she’s here, like right now?” Lydia asks, eyes roving the room. Stiles nods, mumbles in assent, and watches as Erica walks to where Lydia is seated. She puts one hand on the desk beside Lydia, shoves at a paper. It does not move and Erica looks upset.

“She’s right there, trying to move a paper on the desk,” Stiles explains, feeling rather faint. Lydia swallows, looks down to the paper beside her and nods. Before she can comment, a rapping at Stiles’s window interrupts them. The quickness of it should scare him, Stiles thinks, but instead he’s comforted that his friend can reach him that swiftly.

Lydia peels herself off the desk and goes to the window, letting Scott in. Stiles nods a greeting, watches as Scott sniffs the air. He gives his friend two audible sniffs before rolling his eyes.

“Anything, Scooby?” Stiles asks lightly. Scott freezes, head still tipped upward, and smiles, lopsided.

“It just smells like your room always does,” Scott shrugs sheepishly.

“And what smell is that?” Lydia asks, looking rather amused. Isaac tumbles through the window at the question and Stiles feels his mood drop. Isaac manages to arrange himself and his lanky limbs against the wall before smirking at Lydia, in what is assumedly his idea of a flirtatious smile.

“Hormones, Swedish Fish and sweat,” Isaac answers proudly. Lydia smirks back at him and the only thing keeping Stiles from asking what Allison would think of the pair of them is Scott. Stiles figures as long as whatever is between Allison and Isaac is unspoken, it’s better for Scott. Scott drops onto the bed next to him and looks at Stiles rather apologetically for his housemate’s behavior. Stiles shrugs and turns to see Isaac looking about the room. Isaac protrudes his claws, dances one across another. “Tell Er it’s been real shitty without her, will you?”

“I can hear him,” Erica says and Stiles jumps. He’d rather lost track of her with the new visitors and is surprised to find her right next to him. She’s moved to lay across the bed next to him and Stiles finds she looks rather pleased to see her former packmate. Stiles rolls his eyes, but relays her message.

“So this is the first time she’s been here while you’re awake?” Scott asks, leaning his elbows on his knees. It strikes Stiles that at the angle, Scott should be looking right at Erica. Erica smiles at Scott, which makes Stiles oddly uncomfortable. Stiles nods in answer to Scott’s question and Scott raises his eyebrows, looking for elaboration.

“I think it’s Lydia – or like, banshee - Lydia’s doing, she came in and it was creepy, she like touched where Erica would be and there was a flash, then Erica was still there. You’re actually looking right at her, man. Like, you would be if you could see her and can any of you see her?” Stiles stops himself, claps his hands onto his knees to hide the shaking. Next to him, Scott squeezes his shoulder, but it feels distant.

“Well, it’s not a hallucination,” Lydia says and Stiles jerks at the comment. Next to him, Erica gasps in offense, then goes to fiddle with the zipper on her jacket sleeve. Lydia exchanges a glance with Scott and rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying, if the darkness presented itself similarly in all humans it could have been a hallucination as Allison’s is, it’s not anything against you, Stiles.”

“So let’s bring her back,” Isaac says, eyes on Stiles. Next to him, Erica stops playing with the zipper on the sleeve of her jacket, suddenly interested. “Has she told you how to do that?”

“We should wait for the rest of the pack,” Scott says, sounding rather serious. Lydia huffs.

“Allison’s on her way and Aiden said to just text them whatever happens,” Lydia pauses to smirk. “They don’t do late nights unless they’re getting more out of it.”

“Thanks Lydia,” Scott says.

Lydia shrugs off the response and kicks off her shoes. With a sigh, she hops off the desk and informs the boys that she’s going to answer the door for Allison. Scott listens, an expression Stiles recognizes.  Allison must say something, or perhaps Lydia because Scott then turns to Stiles.

“What would your dad think if he went downstairs to find her opening the door for Allison?” Scott asks.

“After the chess analogy explanation, he’s just glad the Hales are out of town, the rest of this is just weird gravy,” Stiles says. Isaac blinks at him and Stiles opens his mouth to explain. The girls waltz into the room before he can. Allison has a bow crossed over her body and she knocks it against the doorframe as she enters, hissing as she rights it.

“Lyd filled me in on the way up,” Allison says as she moves to sit on the bed. Stiles holds out a hand to stop her and the girl freezes, giving him a rather annoyed look. “If you’re not letting me sit down because you’re afraid I’ll get something on your Star Wars comforter, I’m going to go Leia a la Jabba the Hutt on you.”

“That’s not-“ Stiles breaks off, turns to Scott and motions to Allison. “Even she’s seen Star Wars, it’s not nerdy. You’re the weird one for not seeing them.”

“Wait, Scott, you haven’t seen Star Wars?” Allison asks, she jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “I mean, Lydia and I watched them all one weekend, we totally could’ve invited you.”

“Han Solo is the ultimate man,” Isaac puts in, earning nods from Allison and Stiles. Erica mutters in agreement as well and Stiles bumps her shoulder with his elbow proudly.

“I am not discussing Star Wars with you people at three in the morning. We have a possible undead girl in the room, can we focus?” Lydia says, ending the statement with a tight-lipped smile. She exhales loudly as the group mutters apologies. “Allison, you can’t sit there because that’s where Erica is. God, how did you people get anything done without me?”

“We had Derek then,” Isaac comments. Lydia purses her lips, as if the comment only furthers her point. Erica laughs at the expression.

“So, what are we discussing exactly?” Allison asks as she moves away from the bed. She leans against the wall by Lydia, who shrugs at the question, turning to Scott. Stiles follows her gaze and looks at his best friend. Scott stands, claps his hands together.

“Well, I think that if Erica’s here, it’s for a reason. If she’s tied to Stiles, there’s surely a reason for that too. So the question is, did someone send her or is she here of her own accord?” Scott says. There’s an odd inflection on accord, as if he purposefully sought out the word and Stiles smiles, certain it’s another SAT word.

“I’ve only seen Boyd and he didn’t talk to me so, I think I’m here alone,” Erica says.

Stiles looks at her and she seems rather shrunken, her eyes on her hands. He wants to reach over, wrap a hand around the pair of hers clasped together, but it feels oddly public, like some kind of statement. Instead, he nods and repeats her statement to the group. He adds that Boyd went on – yet Erica has not – unsure what is relevant and what is not.

“So if she’s here on her own, then maybe,” Scott pauses, fixes Stiles with a look. “How do we know this isn’t like what Peter did to Lydia?”

“It’s not,” Stiles insists and is surprised to see Scott’s eyes glow red at the comment. His best friend’s gaze focuses to the space next to Stiles. He leans down onto the bed, fists denting the bedspread.

“If it is, that would be a very bad choice. People don’t get to use my pack,” Scott says, voice dangerous and low. Stiles watches Erica shy away, pulling the leather jacket tight around herself before she smiles.

“Don’t tell, but the alpha look is good on him. Power’s sexy,” Erica says, but her voice shakes and Stiles can practically see the bravado in it, it’s that tangible. At this point, he does place a hand on her wrist. Erica stares at it momentarily, surprise flitting across her face before the smile turns smaller and real. “Peter knew what he was doing. I’m just sort of adrift out here, so I don’t think it’s like that.”

“I’ll tell them,” Stiles says and opens his mouth to do so, but Erica covers the hand on her wrist with her other hand and he stops.

“I don’t want it to be like that. If you think it’s like that, I don’t want you to lie for me,” Erica instructs, her gaze more earnest than Stiles has ever seen. Stiles stares at her a long moment, tries to ignore the red of Scott’s eyes in his peripheral vision.

“It’s not like that. She’s not like that, I think she’s just lost right now,” Stiles says, softly. Erica swallows, looks down and Stiles watches her. “I think she just needs some help to come back home.”

“So let’s help her,” Scott says, standing back up. His eyes are no longer red, but he still looks serious, an expression Stiles still is getting used to.

“Lydia, you can work on the beastiary. Isaac, you ask Morrell if there’s any information on this that she knows of,” Scott says. “Allison, see if your family has any information on it, or maybe ask the twins about this – I guess Lyd, you could do that.”

As the rest of the group nods around them, Stiles looks up and sees Scott’s face, the way his eyebrows keep moving. The look is familiar to Stiles, probably the whole pack. It’s the face Scott makes when he’s preparing to do too much for someone else.

“I’ll see if Peter knows anything,” Scott says. Lydia straightens and Scott swallows, staring steadfastly at the ground. “Lydia, I meant what I said earlier, I’m not letting someone use any of you like that. I’m not going to be asking Peter very nicely.”

“You don’t have-“

“Yes, I do,” Scott cuts Stiles off, growling. Lydia does not flinch, instead looks almost pleased with it. “It’s my responsibility.”

“Actually, it’s ours,” a voice pipes in from Stiles window and the group turns at the sound. Cora looks rather like the cat who ate the canary at their expressions of shock. “Super hearing is really wasted on you guys, isn’t it?”

 

It takes about two hours before the pack finally disbands for the night. They all leave through the window – Allison jumping down as easily as the wolves and Lydia forcing Scott and Isaac to catch her, earning teasing from Allison as they all departed. Stiles watches them leave – Allison with an arm looped over Lydia’s shorter frame, Isaac beside the pair and Scott walking with Cora in another direction, assumedly to go with her to talk to Derek. Nothing had been decided, save to research more into bringing back Erica and solving the Peter problem. Stiles leans back in and sighs.

“You alright?” Erica asks and Stiles turns, looks at her. She’s perched on the edge of his bed, still wearing the same outfit as always. Stiles nods, runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you comfortable?” Stiles asks and Erica blinks at him. He marches over to her, suddenly annoyed. He touches her sleeve, tugs on it gently. “I don’t know if you can change clothes, but if you can, you can borrow an old t-shirt or something.”

“Alright,” Erica says. She peels off the jacket, revealing a bright blue bustier. Stiles stares for a moment, until Erica smirks and he tosses a t-shirt at her. She catches it deftly.

“That wasn’t what you were wearing when you died, was it?” Stiles asks. Erica shakes her head. “Must’ve been a meaningful outfit or something then.”

“Guess so,” Erica says noncommittally. She moves to unhook the bustier, then raises an eyebrow at Stiles. He sputters before spinning on his heel, the sound of her chuckle chasing him.

“Shit,” Erica exclaims and Stiles turns back. The shirt is still in her hands, her bustier set on the bed. Stiles’s mouth goes dry and it takes every ounce of concentration to keep his eyes above Erica’s neckline. She blushes. “Sorry, I just, can’t undo the bra. I think the hooks got broken or something.”

She stands, turns and pulls her hair over one shoulder. “Can you get it for me?”

Stiles stammers out something as an answer before reaching for the band of the bra. The hooks seem mangled and a light scar runs the length of Erica’s back above it, the two assumedly related. Stiles traces the scar lightly, stopping when goosebumps line Erica’s back as he does. He breathes out an apology and Eric turns around. Stiles holds his hands up in front of him, one-side of her mouth quirking up at the sight of it.

“Is this just because I’m here? If I was another girl, would you be looking at me like…” Erica trails off, licks her lips and it’s too much. Stiles shakes his head violently.

“You’re quite literally the girl of my dreams anymore,” Stiles quips, voice shaking. Erica laughs, more through her nose than any actual sound. It’s charming. “Is it, I mean, I know I’m the only one who can see you but-“

“No. Maybe we’re overthinking it all,” Erica says and Stiles nods along. “Maybe you should just kiss me.”

So he does.

 

Stiles wakes the next morning to the blaring of his alarm. He considers ignoring it when Erica leans over him and hits the snooze button for him. She slides back to him, laying half atop him, resting her chin on his chest. Her hair is nearly frightening and Stiles drops his hand atop it.

“I’m gonna skip school,” he tells her, voice scratchy in the morning air. Erica smirks at the statement and rolls away, sits up.

“That was what I did – skipped school, started fights. Look how I ended up, I’m a dam cautionary tale,” Erica says, looking down at him with a grin. Stiles runs his hand along her arm, sighs. After a moment of deliberation, he sits up and kisses her.

She hums against him, kisses him again before pushing him back. She shakes her head teasingly and jabs a finger at his alarm clock. Stiles groans and stands, padding over to his closet.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Stiles says and Erica rolls her eyes at that. Stiles pauses to smirk at his own cleverness, looking over his shoulder at her. His smirk falters into something more earnest. Erica looks more at ease then he’s ever seen her – hair loose around her shoulders, an old oversized t-shirt of his loose on her, legs bare. She raises an eyebrow at him, at his expression surely. He shakes his head. “Just like seeing you here.”

“I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool,” Erica says as a way of thanks. The bite in it is nullified by a smile that looks like pure sunshine and Stiles feels warmed by it. The feel of it stays with him as he walks to his Jeep, starts it and pulls out of his driveway.

“You really should check the back seat more often, I’m disappointed,” Peter’s voice is leisurely, almost lyrical. Stiles still jumps at the sound of it, reaches for the door handle as he hears it. A clawed hand drops onto the handle before he grabs it and Stiles moves to dive for the passenger door. Another clawed hand digs into his shoulder, shoves him back into the seat. The hand stays, accompanied by the clucking of tongue as his attacker leans around the seat back. “Again, I really expect more from you, Stiles. I’ve accepted that my only formidable opponents are a pair of humans, but the least you could do-”

“Let him go,” Erica says and Stiles jumps at the sound of her, the appearance of her. The clawed hand drags back from his shoulder, but Stiles scarcely notices as he spins to see behind him.

Erica is shoving, kicking and punching at Peter, who seems rather amused at the turn of events. It takes Stiles a moment to connect what is the oddest part of the scene: Erica, despite seeming completely out of control, is entirely human. Peter, finally having had enough, reaches out and grips Erica’s wrists with his hands. His expression makes Stiles’s mouth go dry with fear. Suddenly, he’s back to a lacrosse field and a girl he can’t protect. His mind blanks for a moment, broken only when Erica growls, quiet and human, but still an attempt. It breaks his thought, the comparison, and he feels a drop of hope build in him. Stiles knows if he heard it, the sound was amplified for Peter, whose smile is all teeth now.

“You can see her?” Stiles shouts, in a desperate attempt at distracting Peter. Peter’s head turns slowly, like a dog hearing something in the distance and Stiles presses on. “Because no one else can, and before she couldn’t even move a paper when someone else was in the room and you, you can touch her and hear her, so why?”

The question earns a low chuckle from Peter, though his attention remains entirely focused on Erica. “Dead can see dead, Stiles. Yet even the banshee didn’t see Erica. So what does that say about you?”

The small space of the Jeep freezes, a new fear injected into Erica and Stiles. Peter laughs, a low grumble of a sound, as if the entire thing is just fun for him. Stiles swallows and focuses on Erica, readies himself to dive back with her, trying to figure out if he can catapult them both into the trunk. Before he can decide, someone grabs him round his chest and pulls him out the driver’s door.

“Wait,” he gasps, struggling against the hands. “Wait, Erica’s in there, we can’t- I can’t leave her, he has her-“

Stiles is vaguely aware that he’s blathering on, that he’s still saying something as the hands – Cora’s, he dimly thinks as long hair tickles at his ears, drag him back. He’s fighting them, earning a growl from Cora, and he watches as the rest of the pack – Scott, Isaac, Derek, the twins all wolfed out – surround his Jeep. Cora spills him onto the ground, pushing around him to stand between him and the Jeep. Stiles falls onto his back, feels the air around him dry out and escape him. He sees the other two girls marching past him – Allison with a bow, Lydia with something he can’t distinguish – and then everything goes blurry and Stiles lets his eyes shut as the white noise fills his ears.

 

When Stiles opens his eyes again, Allison is next to him. She’s on her back, just looking up into the sun. He must make a noise when he sees her – a gasp perhaps, because she turns her head.

“Scott wanted someone to wait with you and Lydia didn’t want to get her skirt dirty. Everyone else is cleaning up,” she says. It’s simple and matter-of-fact, the way Allison has been for a while. Stiles remembers when she used to laugh, he thinks of it now, the image of it flitting in his mind.

“Is Peter-“

“Dead. I shot him a few times, Lydia electrocuted him and Cora slit his throat,” Allison pauses, shuts her eyes as if reliving it. There’s the smallest smile playing on her lips and Stiles tries to quash his discomfort at the expression. Allison opens her eyes again and the smile is gone. “None of us know if Erica’s still here or not, which doesn’t really mean anything.”

“He killed her,” Stiles says, suddenly sure of the fact. He rolls onto his back, stares up at the sun. Allison reaches over, brushes the back of her hand against his. Stiles blinks, sees the sun even on his eyelids, and blames their wateriness on that. “I’m sorry your aunt’s haunting you.”

“Thanks,” Allison answers simply.

A silence stretches out and Stiles is aware that he should suggest they join the others, yet he doesn’t. Part of him is mourning Erica again and he wants to be alone for it. Allison is silent and understands, so he decides that she’s close enough to being alone.

 

The pack ends up at Deaton’s, who already has the incinerator up and running. Derek and Isaac head to burn what remains of Peter and the rest gather in Deaton’s back room. Stiles watches the rest of the group, the way Allison folds herself into a corner beside Lydia, the way Cora’s eyes skitter around the group as if she’s still unsure if she belongs, the way the twins actually sit atop one of the examination tables and most of all, the way Scott wanders the room, pausing to touch everyone’s arm, check on them. Stiles smiles at it, knows it’s coming before Scott gets to him.

“I’m gonna be okay, man,” Stiles says and wonders if it is true. Scott claps Stiles on the back and leans on the counter next to him. Stiles bumps his friend with his leg. “How’d you guys know?”

“Cora and I couldn’t find Peter last night, even with Derek’s help. Then, Lydia called this morning and just yelled at me to head to your house. I told her we couldn’t find Peter and we put it together,” Scott summarizes. By the time he finishes, Isaac walks in with Derek in tow. Derek crosses the room to Cora while Isaac settles himself nearest the door.

“Stiles, I believe I’ve figured out why you were able to see Erica,” Deaton says as he enters the room, lab coat flying out behind him. He pauses, obviously expecting less people, then nods at Scott. Scott ducks his head as he smiles, proud of the pack he’s collected. Deaton goes to his desk and rummages in a drawer. “There’s no word for it that is an easy translation, but there have been instances of those who nearly died having part of them tied to the dead. If that’s true, then Erica may not be the first person you’ll see.”

“So I’m going to see dead people for the rest of my life?” Stiles says. He’s already exhausted by the idea, the weight of losing people twice. Deaton continues to rummage in his desk for a moment before pulling out a necklace. It looks vaguely familiar.

“There may be a solution to that as well as the Erica issue. If Miss Martin would share her research with you, I believe it will shed some light on things. As for the rest of you, my practice opened two hours ago and I have a poodle in need of neutering, so unless you’re willing to assist, I must ask you to leave for the time being,” Deaton says. He hands the necklace to Lydia, who smiles at the necklace, before opening the door and looking back at the group pointedly.

They filter out quickly. Ethan and Aiden hop off the examination table and leave – Aiden pausing to kiss the top of Lydia’s head, making her roll her eyes. Allison heads for the door next, calling something about missing school over her shoulder. Cora drags Derek out, crooning about breakfast. She stops in the doorway and issues a blanket invitation to the group, earning a glare from Derek. Isaac peels himself off the wall and falls into step with Cora, who is crooning about crepes and syrup. Derek trails after them, though Stiles notes the tiniest quirk of a smile before the former alpha left. Stiles looks down to Scott, bumps him with his elbow. Scott smiles.

“Lyd, don’t let him get hurt,” he reminds her. Lydia huffs at the comment and Scott laughs at her reaction. Stiles nods at Scott and his best friend finally walks out the door. Stiles faintly hears Deaton congratulate Scott before he turns to Lydia.

“Let’s go get Erica,” Lydia chirps, the necklace fisted in one of her hands. She takes a few steps before calling over her shoulder for him to follow her.

 

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out when they reach their destination. It’s the train car, still abandoned. Stiles traces a scratch in the wall of it absently as he looks about. “I just thought you meant Erica herself.”

“I do,” Lydia replies. Stiles laughs, once, sharply and Lydia elbows him. “Look, if you don’t do this, Erica goes away and you have to deal with a ton of dead people hounding you for the rest of your scrawny life. If you do this and I’m right – which, I am – Erica will be here and the dead will leave you alone.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Stiles can’t resist the question.  Lydia purses her lips at him.

“I’m not,” she says sharply. Her expression softens and she holds the necklace out to him. Stiles takes it dutifully.

Stiles has nothing to say to that. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “So what do I do?”

“Oh, I can’t spell it all out for you. The beastiary was specific that the solution would present itself to the chosen and that all you would need is a conduit, which is the necklace,” Lydia says. She turns on her heel and marches out of the train car, hair bouncing behind her.

“Where do I even start?” Stiles calls after her. Lydia stops, one foot on the steps down. She looks over her shoulder, expression almost amused.

“You get the girl,” Lydia says. She winks and hops down the steps.

“Wha-wait, that’s incredibly vague and completely unhelpful,” Stiles yells to the now empty train car. “I’m going to tell Deaton you’re stealing his shtick.”

Stiles sighs and scrubs his hand through his hair. He runs his thumb over the necklace, all nerves and extraneous energy. Then, he lifts the necklace to his lips and touches it to them. There’s a crack and a flash of light and suddenly the necklace is ash, falling through his fingers. Behind him, someone is breathing heavily and Stiles turns at the sound.

“I’m alive,” Erica breathes, her hands floating over her hair, shoulders, legs. Her face cracks into a grin and Stiles knows inexplicably that this is different than before, that she’s alive again, not caught between places. Stiles walks to her, his expression surely matching hers – dazed and pleased – because she’s back, she’s real and she’s still in his old t-shirt.

She’s kissing him, one hand fisted in his hair, one in his shirt, before he can say anything to her. They end up pressed against the wall of the train car – Erica hissing at the cold of it through her shirt and Stiles knows that she’s not a wolf anymore, an issue they can face another day because it seems arbitrary to the rest of it. He focuses instead on the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her mouth on his. She pushes him away finally, breathing hard.

“Miss me?” Stiles asks, all cheek. Erica laughs, teeth glinting white in the dim light of the train car and Stiles wonders how he could have ever thought this was the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ **[masonjo](http://masonjo.tumblr.com/)**


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